


Darkness Even In the Light

by Eilinelithil



Series: Lover's Leap [11]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Snark, The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilinelithil/pseuds/Eilinelithil
Summary: Belle and Rumplestilskin find themselves in Rumplestiltskin's past, a time when he and Baelfire are still together, although he is already the Dark One. Belle thinks, perhaps, that she can change the future by ensuring they stay together, but Rumplestiltskin knows the dangers of changing the past.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Series: Lover's Leap [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863370
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Darkness Even In the Light

**Author's Note:**

> One of the prompts from the AU-gust list, however since it's no longer August, and I didn't get through the whole list, I will continue to the end of the list to complete the series.

Belle’s eyes opened with a start. She could still smell him, taste him; feel him inside of her. Heat spread through all of her and she pressed the heels of both hands against her womanhood to contain the sensations.

Belle blushed, the morning wakening made it seem more and more like a dream. She stretched, taking in her surroundings. A single room, and a loft - an open fire, a cooking fire at that, and a farmhouse table nearby to it. Everything else in the room was simple, basic, as for a peasant. Definitely not back at the Dark Castle, and not herself either… as she reached up to feel her face. Older, rounder… all of her far more ‘homely.’

“Mother, you’re still a’bed.” A boys voice, not quite a child nor yet an adult. “Are you sick?”

She pushed herself up to sitting, looking up at the boy - her son - Aidan.

“Of course not, son,” she said with a smile. “I was only up until late…” she glanced around again, spotting the half finished basket in the corner of the room. “… weaving.”

“And moving around when you did go to bed,” he told her. “Dreaming. I heard you.”

Belle blushed again, thinking what he might have heard. “I… miss your father,” she said.

“Me too,” Aidan sat down on the side of her bed. “But we’ll get by.”

She shook her head, “Not if they come and take you… for the war,” she said. “You’re of an age, after all.”

“They won’t come, Mama,” he said, calling her by the name he always used as a younger boy. “They wouldn’t dare. The children in the village are under His protection, don’t forget.”

It took her a moment; a moment to put the pieces together, a moment to realize what her son was talking about - _who_ her son was talking about. He was here… and he was himself - his _former_ self. She’d heard the tales even before she summoned him to help her people… of the town whose children were guarded by the Dark One.

“How could I forget?” she asked, giving her son’s hand a squeeze. “Where _were_ you?”

He looked down, drew his hand away from hers and almost examined his fingernails. “With Baelfire,” he admitted softly, and it was all she could do to contain her gasp. Rumplestiltskin was still _with_ Baelfire? Was _this_ a wrong they could right? Oh, how much would change if only they could stay together.

“Come on,” she said, pushing aside the covers to start her day with a new purpose in her heart. “Why don’t you see to the animals while I get ready, then I’ll help you. See if Mathild will give some good milk today. If she will, we can take some to your friend and his father… if you’d like.”

“You’d… talk with the Dark One?”

“Why not?” she asked, frowning in incredulity. “You speak with his son.”

Now was Aidan’s turn to frown. “But… no one is friendly with the Dark One,” he said.

“Well, that’s half the trouble, isn’t it?” Belle answered, “Perhaps if they did, he wouldn’t be quite so…” she shrugged. “Dark?”

“Mother…” There was exaggerated patience in her son’s voice. “It’s a curse. It doesn’t work that way.”

She raised her eyebrow as she smoothed down her skirt over her shift. “And what do you know of curses, young man? Any curse can be broken.” She pulled on her simple shirt, and fastened the belt to keep it in place before donning her woolen shawl on top of it. “And I thought I asked you to go and milk Mathild. Keep standing there much longer, and I’ll show you a curse or two.”

Her son gave her a indulgent smile, and a long suffering, “yes mother,” before he slipped out of the door, leaving Belle to figure out how she might bring about her plan. If, of course, she could.

* * *

Being the Dark One had its advantages.

Being the Dark One inside the Dark One’s head, however, was more of a curse than the curse itself.

Being the Dark One, inside the Dark One’s head with some very compromising memories of a time spent with Belle as two certain pirate captains… He thought he’d go _mad_ with it!

Most of him hoped that somehow she _skipped_ this jump and he would have to solve the problem by himself. Well… half of him then. Ah, if he had to be honest less than half… _Not at all… fine… happy?_

“Who the hell are you talking to?” The outer Rumplestiltskin asked the inner consciousness out aloud. “And about who?”

_You don’t want to know,_ Rumple told himself. _Besides, it’s a_ long _while yet until she comes into your life._

He felt Rumplestiltskin frown; could hear his thoughts ticking over, sorting through this new piece of information and trying to find an answer.

“You’re a Dark One, aren’t you?” Rumplestiltskin asked, a shock of excitement sounding in his voice. “I feel them sometimes, tenuous - like shadows, but I’ve never heard them like this before. Which one were you?”

_Am I_. Rumple corrected, realizing that making such a statement was unwise, especially to himself. _Anyway, it doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is—_

“Doesn’t matter?” Rumplestiltskin interrupted his older self incredulously, and Rumple let out an inward groan, which he should also have kept to himself, he recognized, as his younger self almost sang with glee. “Doesn’t matter? Of _course_ it matters, especially with a reaction like that.”

_All you need to know is that I know why you took the power of the Dark One; that you had a good reason, and that makes you different to_ all _the other Dark Ones that came before you… and that maybe - just maybe we…_ you _can use the power for_ good _. That’s an admirable quality, don’t you think?_

“What are you getting at?” Rumplestiltskin asked, sounding irritated now. “Am I _not_ using this power for good - protecting this village and stopping the soldiers from taking the children for the war?”

Rumple felt his emotions lurch, which was echoed in his younger self, since he was in his consciousness after all.

“What? What!” Rumplestiltskin demanded. “Why is this a problem?”

Mentally, Rumple shook his head. _It isn’t a problem, so long as you remember that it’s important to avoid the pitfalls. Don’t let fear and wrong decisions rule you. They can get in the way, and—_

Again his younger self interrupted. “Yes, yes, this lecture is all well and good, but wouldn’t a little concrete information make it easier to _avoid_ said pitfalls?” he sang, making grand gestures as though he were moving some object from one place to another - moving something aside.

_I can’t interfere like that,_ Rumple told him. _Just remember that the biggest obstacle is fear. It allows the darkness to get a hold, and set you on the wrong path._

“Ah, well,” Rumplestiltskin scoffed. “I’ll be fine then, because I’m not afraid any more - not of _anything_.”

_That’s not true, and you know it,_ Rumple told him. _We_ both _know it._

“I know nothing of the sort,” Rumplestiltskin argued, though Rumple could _feel_ the words for the lie that they were, as well as knowing himself for who and what he was - for what moved him, even to fear. No, especially to fear. “I have so much power,” Rumplestiltskin went on. “What is there for me to possibly fear?”

_You fear for Baelfire_ , he answered and felt himself flinch, as if the younger version of himself had just acquiesced to a thought that came from inside of him and found it more than uncomfortable. _You always will, and it will be the_ source _of all of your mista—_

“You’re me!” Rumplestiltskin made the impossible leap.

Oh, how easy it would be to admit it… to tell his younger self everything he knew he would ask if he admitted to it, to know that he could _tell_ this version of himself everything he could to prevent the single-most heartbreaking moment of his life, but… 

His heart twisted in his chest - all the moments of _this_ future that would never come to be. All the people who would never be born, fall in love… enjoy their life because one, small, selfish act could change all of time and space.

A horrible conundrum.

“You are, you’re me, from—”

With a heart darker and deeper than the deepest well of pain, it was Rumple’s turn to interrupt, to try and distract himself from pursuing those lines of inquiry. _It doesn’t matter who I am, I told you,_ he said. _Just heed me - and know that I know what I’m talking about._

“What? Like not wanting… whoever it is to be here, but… not really?” Rumplestiltskin mocked.

Rumple’s protective temper flared in an instant, even against himself and he snapped, _Mind your own business! Don’t you dare—!_

Both were interrupted in their circular argument by a soft knock at the door.

* * *

It wasn’t hard to find the Dark One’s home. It was the one to which everyone gave a wide berth. It was the one whose garden was well tended, where a few sheep stood grazing in an adjacent patch of grass that could hardly be called a field, but was a field none the less. It was the one where carded wool hung drying in the morning sun, and dyed wool hung dripping on a wooden frame.

She had no idea what to expect from this younger version of the Dark One, but he was willing to protect the village children from the vile Duke’s conscription, and that had to count for something, didn’t it? She looked down into the basket she carried; at the pitcher of milk, the half dozen eggs and the quarter wheel of cheese she’d retrieved from the cool cellar, and the freshly baked loaf of bread.

It was no less than Rumplestiltskin deserved, and she was simply being neighborly. Or so she kept telling herself. This was not a sycophantic gesture on the part of a desperate woman. For a moment Belle wondered at her thoughts, until she remember they were not just _her_ thoughts, but also those of the Widow Halran - the woman whose mind, whose life she shared.

_She_ might want to save Rumplestiltskin from losing Baelfire, but the woman was only worried for her son, the coming of the Duke’s soldiers for her boy. She knocked again, louder this time, shifted the basket on her arm, and stood up straighter as the latch began to lift and the door opened a crack.

“Yes?”

Belle peered through Halran’s eyes at the visage of the Dark One that was still partially obscured by the half open door. The eye that she could see was the same in _her_ Rumplestiltskin as it was in this younger version, but his face was less scaled - more, she imagined, like the man he had been.

“I um… Rumplestiltskin,” she began, and she couldn’t tell if it were her own nervousness or the widow’s that had her stumbling over her words.

“Yes, that’s my name, dearie,” he said, then added, “but not many seek me out…?”

His words were a query and a challenge all rolled into one string of words. She tried to remain calm, and shrugged.

“My cow was rich in milk today, and there’s far more than me and my boy can use before it sours.” Not exactly the truth. Aidan could easily down a whole pitcher of milk. He _was_ a growing boy after all, but she kept up the ruse, hoping that Rumplestiltskin would allow it even if he saw through her. “So I thought that you and your son could use it. There are some few other things as well. Eggs, bread, and cheese. Our boys are friends, you know, so… I thought it would be all right.”

In an attempt to stop herself from rambling any more than she already was, she held out the basket for Rumplestiltskin to take. He took it, and peered into the basket as though she hadn’t just listed the contents of it for him, then opened the door wider.

“That’s very generous of you,” he said, and standing aside asked, “Won’t you come in? I was _just_ about to make some tea.”

“That’s kind of you,” she answered, but felt suddenly nervous as she stepped across the threshold. This might be Rumplestiltskin, yes, but it was not the Dark One she _knew_. Suddenly her plan seemed a little reckless after all.

She turned around to find him watching her, as if in the depths curiosity; as if examining her, evaluating her, as if two sets of eyes were looking into her, searching for—

“Rumplestiltskin!” she blurted suddenly, and at least part of the intense scrutiny was replaced by… what? Resignation, concern? She couldn’t tell because of the other half of his expression - expectant and predatory.

“As I said,” he murmured darkly, “my name.”

“Yes, of course,” she tried to cover for herself. “I just…”

She felt his heat at her back, closer than she thought he should have been, and when his voice broke the silence of her trailing off mid sentence, it was softer, and with more menace that she was accustomed to, even from her own Rumplestiltskin and she turned to face him, taking a step away.

“Oh, come now, dearie, I know who you are.”

Another step. “Yes, of course you do. Widow Halran - our boys play togeth—”

She broke off with a squeak as his hand shot out in her direction, but fell short as if he’d hit a brick wall, and for a moment he flailed around.

“Leave… now,” the flailing Rumplestiltskin growled, then sing song as he began to still, “Oh, no no no… don’t go…”

Belle backed away a little more, realizing what was going on inside of this Rumplestiltskin’s head, even as he confirmed her guess.

“… my future self and I were just having a fascinating conversation,” he darkened again, “until he refused to tell me what I wish to know.”

“Please,” she tried to feign innocence. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just came to bring you—”

If ever there was a moment when an interruption could have been more timely, Belle couldn’t think of it. In that moment, Baelfire - at least she _assumed_ it was Baelfire - burst into the house calling for his papa.

“Papa, soldiers! Soldiers on the road!”

Then, he seemed to take in his surroundings and to see Belle, and ran across the room to tug on her arm urgently as he said, “They’re heading your way… to your house. I’m sure they mean to come for Aiden!”

Belle, or was it the widow herself, turned again and gave Rumplestiltskin a pleading look.

“You _said_ , Papa,” Baelfire added. “You said that we’d be safe.”

“And you _shall_ , son. You shall, as shall _all_ the children in this region,” he turned a pointed look Halran’s way, and Belle shivered as he added. “Even yours.” and his eyes said, _for a price._

Before she could think of a suitable answer, however, she found herself engulfed in the magical purple haze of Rumplestiltskin’s magic as the cottage dissolved around her, and she found herself, along with Baelfire and Rumplestiltskin in the small yard in front of her home.

* * *

Rumple, looking through Rumplestiltskin’s eyes immediately took in the situation, searching through his painful memories to try and find a match for something like this. The name of the woman, in whose body Belle was currently entangled, as was he in his younger self, was like an annoying itch he couldn’t scratch. He knew he should know it. Halran. Why was it so familiar?

Then he heard the pleading sound of the son’s voice and looked up to see the sandy haired youth being dragged from the small farm house.

“Please, no,” Aiden cried, “I can’t go. I’m not ready!”

“You’re ready when the Duke says so, and he says you’re ready now!”

It all came back to him in a horrifying flurry - what had happened then, and would likely still happen now, if no one - if _he_ didn’t do something, and yet, knowing what could happen if he did, he could not countenance any action other than what he had already done - was going to do… Gods how he _hated_ references to time!

“Leave him alone!”

His attention was brought back to the moment when Halran, or Belle, he was never afterward certain _who_ it had been, threw herself at the soldiers that had Aiden in their grasp and clawed at their hands to try and make them release her son. He remembered all too painfully what would happen next.

_The soldier slapped the woman aside and sent her reeling into the dirt, but she scrabbled forward and wrapped both arms around his booted ankles._

_“He’s just a boy!” She cried out and was sent rolling away as one of the other soldiers sent a swift kick to her midriff, and for a moment she lay in the dirt gasping like a grounded fish; fighting for breath, but her son’s cry for her roused her, and pushing, first to her knees, and then to her feet she flew at the soldiers again, he nails raking a wide gash down the commander’s cheek._

_“Bitch!” he snarled, clapping a hand to his bleeding face. Then, to his subordinates, ordered, “Burn this hovel to the ground!” Then grabbing Halran by the wrists, he snarled into her face. “I’ll teach you some manners.”_

_“No!” Aidan struggled free and rushed the officer that held his mother. “You can’t do that. It’s all we have.”_

_But it was too late. The thatch was already on fire, and burning embers were dropping through the timber frame into the cottage below, catching on soft furnishings and other flammable surfaces - of which there were many._

_The commander pushed Halran to one of the other soldiers, and nodded his head toward the cottage, and then grasped Aidan by the front of his shirt, twisting it as he snatched the boy forward._

_“Won’t need it, where she’s going,” he said in a mocking voice. Then looking among the gathered crowd of spectators commanded, “Round them_ all _up. We’ll be providing the Duke with a pretty garrison for his army today.”_

_With a laugh he released Aiden, who ran toward his burning home, into which his mother was being pushed as the other soldiers went among the crowd to snatch the children from their parents’ arms, even those that were not yet of an age._

_Or they would have._

_“Uh-hum!” The Dark Once cleared his throat._

Rumple fought against the memory, as well as against his younger self’s impulses, and indeed against his own. He knew he must save the children, and indeed remembered that Aidan had indeed survived the day he was taken, _and_ the battle to which he was sent. However, the treatment of his mother, her _death_ at the hands of these soldiers made of Aidan one of the cruelest of the Duke’s enforcers. Must he allow that to happen?

Could he?

* * *

As soon as she realized what they were about to do, Belle forced her way to the surface of the widows mind once more. She couldn’t fight necessarily any better than the widow herself, but where-as the widow was cowed by the soldiers, her desire for adventure and heroism gave Belle a modicum of courage, that might just lend her the upper hand.

As the Dark One saw to his own kind of censure against the the soldiers for their transgression against the children of the town, she twisted free again, caught hold of the smoldering edges of the door frame and _heaved_ herself hard, threw herself forward from the Weakening wood and solidly against the soldier and her hand, as he stumbled, fell against the hilt of the knife at his belt and closing her eyes, she—

* * *

Belle shuddered and snatched her arm back from the hearth she had been cleaning as an ember popped and cleared the grate to fall painfully against the inside of her bare arm.

Across the room, at his wheel, Rumplestiltskin similarly started at Belle’s sudden hiss of pain. He stood up and began to stride across the Great Hall toward her, growling at her as he came.

“You just _had_ to interfere, didn’t you?”

“Interfere?” Belle snapped. “I _saved_ that woman’s life.”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Rumplestiltskin half sang, half whined. “Trying to save my Baelfire - to keep us together instead of letting the Blue Fairy drive us apart.”

“Of course I did,” she said, looking at him as if he had grown a forked tail. “Do you think I want to see you like this? Bitter and lonely?!”

“You’ve no _idea_ the harm you’ve caused,” he rounded on her, catching her wrist and drawing her to her feet. “The _time_ you’ve changed up until now.”

“Not much,” she snarled herself, pulling back her wrist from his arm and cradling it against her chest, trying to ignore the spot of burning pain. “You’re still here. I’m here. Your son is not, and the castle is not falling apart around us. So, no real difference.”

“You can’t know that,” Rumplestiltskin protested, snatching up her wrist again, “Not until you’ve been everywhere, seen _everything_ , and—”

“Besides, that’s _not_ what this is about _anyway_.” she accused, pulling free, and backing a step away, not only from Rumplestiltskin, but also from the all too real memory of the way his hands felt on her body, the way he had moved over her, inside her.

“Of course it is,” he said far too quickly in return, and fussed for a moment with his cravat, refusing to catch her eye. “Whatever _else_ could it possibly be about?”

She could tell by the look in his eyes, and the way he moved that he knew _exactly_ the moment she meant. She gave him a look to say as much, folding her arms across her chest with a wince as she paid no heed to the burn on her arm.

“The pirates?” he scoffed. “I’m sure that would have happened between them anyway - you know how pirates are.”

“No actually,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Anyway,” he protested, “I would _never_ have a hand, or any other body part, in anything like that. All that sighing and moaning and crying - complete waste of time and energy.”

“So, you felt nothing?” she challenged.

“Completely pointless,” he snapped, then as if the matter were concluded, he ordered, “Now, take your things out of here. I need quiet if I’m to spin.”

Belle let out an exaggerated sigh, and leaned down to pick up her things from beside the hearth, using the moment to hide the smirk that had begun to find its way to her face. Then she moved to pass Rumplestiltskin, to do as he had bidden her.

“One more thing,” he said as she drew level with him, and her step halted. This time she did not pull away when he, far more carefully than she would have thought, picked up her injured forearm in one hand, and ran the palm of his other just above the surface of her skin. She felt the tingle of magic against the sting in her arm, and the coolness of a breeze in its wake, before the pain of the burn was gone.

“There,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to complain that you couldn’t keep up with your duties.”

“Yes, Rumplestiltskin,” she deadpanned, and began to move away to the side door that led to the kitchen, finally letting the wry smile crease her face and she murmured, “Right away, Rumplestiltskin. It _is_ tea time after all.”


End file.
